


Did you wake up late one day, and you're not so dumb, (but you're in love)

by Jennsepticeye



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Because she knows, Blow Jobs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, End Game Spoilers, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Not Beta Read, Peggy is gonna get these boys together, Reunion Sex, Reunions, Smut, Vanilla, anyway, endgame spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 05:52:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19078807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennsepticeye/pseuds/Jennsepticeye
Summary: ENDGAME SPOILERS.....Steve is leaving. Steve is going to the past. Bucky still remembers turning to ash and Steve is leaving. The air tastes bitter and Bucky feels selfish. It’s been two weeks since the world ended for the second time and Bucky has barely seen hide or hair of his best friend who was drowning in the workload of cleanup responsibilities. Now Steve is leaving and Bucky’s choking on imaginary ash.





	Did you wake up late one day, and you're not so dumb, (but you're in love)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Green Day's Hey X-Kid. Good Song. Anyway. I'm emo about endgame, so here's a fic  
> leave kudos and comments if you like it!

               Steve is leaving. Steve is going to the past. Bucky still remembers turning to ash and Steve is leaving. The air tastes bitter and Bucky feels selfish. It’s been two weeks since the world ended for the second time and Bucky has barely seen hide or hair of his best friend who was drowning in the workload of cleanup responsibilities. They hugged, once, at the end of the battle and then nothing. Now Steve is leaving and Bucky’s choking on imaginary ash.

               “You know I could come with you if you want.” Sam says. Bucky likes him. He’s reasonable, smart, and he has Steve’s six when Barnes can’t.

               “You’re a good man, Sam. This one’s on me though.” It’s bullshit if Bucky’s ever heard any. He just _knows_ Steve is going to do something stupid. Something noble. Maybe both. Bucky looks up when worn boots crunch the leaf litter in front of him. “Don’t do anything stupid till I get back.”

               He can’t help but smile. It’s a silly memory, a girl on each arm and an itchy uniform. Bright lights and technological marvels. They were going to go dancing with Betty and Dot though the only one Bucky wanted to dance with was his ninety-pound punk. “How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

               When he hugs Steve, he lets the façade fall, just a little, stops smiling when there’s no one to see. He can’t break down yet, can’t let Steve know just how much it hurts. He can’t let him know just how much he means to Bucky. “I’m gonna miss you buddy.” _Fuck_ his voice way too quiet, choked by the knot in his throat. There’s a vice around his ribs, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing.

               Steve smiles at him. “It’s gonna be okay, Buck.”

               Barnes wants to believe him. Believe that in a couple minutes his heart won’t drop out of his chest. _Shit,_ but Steve steps away and _too fast_ and Bucky is left dizzy and reeling. He can’t. He can’t handle this. He’s so sick of losing everything good. He wipes his eyes before anyone can see.

               “How long is this gonna take?” Sam asks, utterly oblivious to the look on Steve’s face that says he’s not going to adhere to the plan. Bucky’s seen that look more times than he can count.

               “For him? As long as he needs. For us? Five seconds.” Banner explains. “Ready Cap?”

               Steve nods, jaw fixed.

               “Alright, we’ll meet you back here, okay?”

               “You bet.” Bucky wishes he couldn’t hear the lie.

               “Going quantum in three… two… one…”

               A flash of red, suffocating silence, and Steve Rogers no longer exists in the present. Bucky chokes on air. It’s not even certain yet and he _can’t fucking breathe._

“Return in five…”

               _Don’t win the war till I get there._

“…four…”

               _Punk_

_Jerk_

“…three…”

               _I can get by on my own._

_Yeah, but the thing is you don’t have to_

“…two…”

               _Your name is James Buchanan Barnes, and you’re my friend._

” …one…”

               _I’m with you till the end of the line_

Nothing. There’s a solid three seconds of silence. Steve isn’t there. Steve didn’t come back. Bucky steps away. He doesn’t want to cry in front of Banner and Sam. He can barely stand. You’d think he’d be used to losing everything by now.

               “Where is he?” Wilson demands.

               Bucky had hoped beyond all hope that he wasn’t seeing what he thought he was seeing on Steve’s face. Of course, he knew that Steve saw Peggy when he and Stark went back to 1970. The love of his life. He feels like a selfish jerk for wishing she and Steve had never met. Steve deserves a happy ending. If that’s in the past with Peggy— well then why would Steve choose his brain damaged best friend over an incredible dame like Margaret Carter?

               “I don’t know!” Banner fusses. “He blew right by his time stamp.”

               “Well get him back!”

               _I’m with you till the end of the line._

~*~

               Steve returns the stones in New York first. He all but collapses when he sees a red and gold suit soar through the sky. _Tony._ It’s like seeing a ghost, except it’s not. They still have no idea if Tony’s going to make it, eleven years from now. He sleeps on a rooftop in Brooklyn and dreams of mud, black powder and a blue wool coat. He wakes up cold in 2012 August.

               The reality stone, aether, presents its own set of problems. He manages nonetheless and earns a nasty scar across his collar for his trouble. He misses his shield. Returning three stones takes a week and a half.

               Returning the Power stone to Morag is so completely painless that it leaves Steve tense and jumpy for the next three days. It takes weeks to get to Vormir.

               “The prodigal son returns. Welcome Steven, son of Joseph.”

               Erskine’s serum had enhanced Steve’s memory, but it can’t be. No way that voice belongs to who he thinks it does. Unfortunately, he’s proven right when Johann “Red Skull” Schmidt emerges from the shadows looking lie a discount Dementor.

               “Oh, you miserable bastard. You’re still alive.” Steve laughs.

               “Perhaps if you consider this living.” He pauses. “You are conflicted, Captain.” Schmidt muses.

               “Yeah, whatever, I’m just here to return something.”

               “You cannot bring her back, the young Natalia. How unfortunate that her sacrifice was for naught.”

               “Don’t you dare use her name” Steve growls. “She knew what she was doing, just take back your fucking rock.”

               Schmidt hums and takes the stone. It vanishes from his hand, presumably returning to wherever it come from. “May you find peace for your inner conflict, Steven Rogers.”

               “Kiss my ass.”

               ~*~

               Hoboken, New Jersey brings back memories of itchy wool tights and asthma attacks. A footlocker full of books and a coy red painted smile. He returns the Tesseract to the bunker, and barely masks the sound he makes when he hears Zola’s name.

               He could go back now; he’s returned all the stones. He could go back to 2023 and live out his days until the world needs Captain America again. Instead he follows Peggy Carter out of the base, clad in the same army greens from before, hat pulled low over his eyes.

               In the twenty-five years since she last saw him Peggy had done well for herself.  She’s still got the same spitfire, take-charge attitude. She lives in a large place in the suburbs, flowerbeds without weeds and in full bloom.

               She points a revolver into the bushes. Steve had no idea she was carrying, but he really doesn’t want to end with a bullet to the face. She’s picked up some tricks since 1945.

               “You’re a terrible spy, whoever you are. Come out slowly.” She commands.

               Steve keeps his head ducked, hat covering his face and with his arms raised. “Don’t shoot. I’m not here to hurt you, Peggy.”

               “That’s Director Carter to you.”

               “Yeah, congratulations on that by the way.” He can’t think of a better time, so Steve raises his head to look at her. “Hey there, Pegs.”

               She looks _pissed._ She shakes the gun in his direction. “No, Steve Rogers is dead. So, help me god if you don’t leave right now, I will make you regret wearing his face.”

               Steve sighs. “I swear, it’s really me. It’s a long story, but I promised you a dance if I remember right.”

               She’s silent for a moment, as if she’s contemplating whether or not to trust him. Eventually she tucks her gun into wherever it came from. A warning. “I’ll make some tea.”

               Peggy makes him sit in a stiff-backed chair at the kitchen table. He feels vaguely sick. He doesn’t know why. He’s lying to himself.

               “Well, explain.” She prompts, placing a mug in front of him. She stays standing, hands on her hips.

               “This is going to sound completely nuts, but I wouldn’t lie to you.” He starts. “Just hear me out.”

               And Peggy does. She listens as he explains in halting sentences from the beginning, at least the beginning from his perspective. Waking up 2011, the invasion of New York, Thanos, the end of the world. He tells her about Hydra and Bucky and the Winter Soldier. He talks well after his voice is gone hoarse and the tea has gone cold. His heart shatters all over again reliving it. He’s sick, nauseated. He pretends he doesn’t know why.

               When he finishes Peggy sighs and steps out into the parlor, Steve stares into his cup. He waits for her to come back but she doesn’t. Instead the shrill voices of the Andrew Sisters cut through the air. Dear god, what a gal.

               The chair creaks when he stands up, and the floor protests as he makes his way to the sitting room. Peggy is standing in the center of the rug, arms crossed. “Well Captain, I do believe you owe me a dance.”

               Steve sighs in relief and takes her hands. He had never learned how to dance, not really. He warned her that he might step on her toes, so instead they sway easily back and forth. He chokes a little, eerily similar to the asthma attacks of the past.

               “You can’t stay here, you know.” She says after the third song starts to fade.

               Steve opens his mouth, then closes it again. The words don’t come.

               “Years ago, maybe we could have been one another’s happy ending, but not anymore. And besides, I already got mine.”

               He squeezes his eyes shut. He knew it was a possibility, but he doesn’t know what he’s going to do know. Go back? That’s the last thing Bucky needs. “I—”

               “And what about Sargent Barnes. You finally have a second chance with him.”

               “What? No, I—” He chokes on his words again. His tongue feels like lead behind his teeth. He feels like he’s cold. The Valkyrie is crashing again.

               “You can’t fool me, Rogers. I know you’ve had eyes for him for the better part of a century. Three months in basic training is nothing compared to that. He was always destined to be your other half.” She says, as if it’s nothing.

               He feels sick and he can’t pretend like he doesn’t know why anymore. It’s been months for him, traveling and returning stones. He misses Bucky like he missed air when he fell into the Potomac. He stumbles a step away, lets go of Peggy while the record player croons _Bei Mir Bist Du Schein_. “I can’t. He doesn’t—”

               “Feel the same way?” Peggy finishes. “Steven Rogers, if you could see the way he looks at you. It’s like you’re the one thing in the entire world that he can’t afford to lose. In that bar he wasn’t jealous of you for getting my attention, he was jealous that I got yours. He needs you just as much as you need him.”

               Steve’s eyes are burning, and he lets it happen. He lets the tears roll down his face and leans against the wall. ”How– How long have you known?”

               “Since the moment you learned about the 107th. It was written on your face, clear as day that losing him would break you. And the look on his face when you made it back to base? Let’s just say that I wish my husband had looked at me that way.”  She says, gentle but firm. “I’m almost fifty years old, Steven. I’ve already had my happy ending, now it’s time that you get yours.”

               Steve sniffs. He knows from experience that his eyes are puffy and he’s blotchy red from his ears to his shoulders. “God, how are you always so right?” He laughs.

               “I have a fair amount of experience with stubborn men.” She pulls him upright, solid, strong, steady. A light house in a storm. “Go home Steve. Go home and tell him.” 

               A tapa and the suit forms around, more worn and comfortable than when he had first put it on all those months ago. He’s grown to like it. “Thank you, Peggy.”

               “Go.” She insists. “And say hello you your beau for me, he always was a good man.”

               “The best.” Steve agrees.

               ~*~

               “Well get him back!”

               “I’m trying.” Bucky can hear Banner frantically hitting buttons and switches.

               “Get him the hell back!” Sam sounds just as frantic as Bucky feels, like his heart is going to beat out of his chest. He crosses his arms and squeezes hard enough for the metal fingers to leave bruises on the other arm. At least the pain will distract him, keep him from keeling over. His head is swimming. _Fuck_ he’s such a coward. Why did he never say anything?

               “Come on, Steve” Banner says. “Where are you?”

               “Banner!”

               “Found him. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

               Bucky’s fine. He can let go. He was selfish holding on as long as he did. Steve will be better off without him. There’s lead in Barnes’s chest. His heart is in his stomach.             

               “Steve!”              

               It’s the utter relief in Sam’s voice that makes Bucky turn around. And _shit,_ Steve is really there. His suit is stained with mud and soot, and he’s got a few scars that Bucky doesn’t remember, but he’s there. He’s there and he looks exhausted, and he’s been crying. Bucky is frozen. It’s been less than ten seconds and it feels like it’s been ten years.

               Steve is standing in front of him and Bucky still can’t move. He can’t breathe because there’s a vice crushing his lungs.

               “Hey, Buck.”

               “Stupid punk. You scared the shit outta me.” He rasps, floating.

               Steve grins. “I did say till the end of the line, pal. It’s not here yet.” He pulls Bucky’s hands apart and holds them in his own. “Let me know if this isn’t okay.”

               Then Steve is even closer, and he smells like soot and tastes like tea leaves. He’s soft, hesitant and the vice around Bucky’s lungs disappears. He can breathe. He tugs his hands free, so he can use them to pull Steve closer, kiss him harder. He’s scalding hot.

               He has to pull away when he hiccups with a sob. They’re both crying, but they’re smiling too, foreheads pressed together. “I thought you were going to st-stay, get your girl. Why didn’t y-you stay?”

               “Thought about it. Then she knocked some sense into my thick skull. I realized that you’re my happy ending.”

               “Jesus, you’re a sap.” He pulls Steve back in and kissed him again, and again, and again. Maybe he is selfish for wanting this but now that he has it, Bucky doesn’t plan on letting go.

               “You think they realize we’re still here?”

               “Shhhh.”

               If he’s being honest, Bucky had forgotten they weren’t alone. He pulls away reluctantly. “I’m glad you came back.”

               “Me too.”

               ~*~

               With the Avenger’s headquarters leveled, they have to go back to the city, to Steve’s apartment in Brooklyn. The car ride is tense, almost suffocating, but not awkward. They both want to reach out and the only reason they don’t is a fear of crashing. And _god_ does it take effort for Bucky to keep his hands off of Steve.

               As soon as the apartment door closes, locked behind them, Bucky is crowding Steve against it. He can’t get close enough. Steve doesn’t seem to mind though, nipping at Bucky’s lower lip and cradling his face in warm hands.

               “Steve–” He gasps when the other abandons his mouth in favor of mouthing along his collar, his throat, under his jaw, leaving wet kisses and bite marks. “Fuck, Steve–”

               “God, I missed you.” Steve murmurs against the crook of his neck. “Like I was sick again. Couldn’t breathe without you.”

               “Ain’t goin’ anywhere ‘cept maybe the bed. Provided you’re in it with me.”

               Steve’s head shoots up at the suggestion in Bucky’s tone, eye’s comically wide. “Are you sure? I don’t want to pressure you– “

               “Stevie.” Bucky interrupts. “I want you. I want everything you want to give me. I’ve wanted you since 1938.  This isn’t some new thing.”

               “Fuck. You’ve got no idea the things you do to me, Buck.”

               Bucky just smirks and pulls him into another searing kiss. He thinks he’s got a pretty good idea.

               They kick off their boots by the door, and their jackets follow after, landing in puddles on the floor. Steve’s eyes are soft and open, eyelashes casting spiderweb shadows on his cheekbones. How any of the dame’s they took out never realized how pretty he was is beyond Bucky. The only difference now is that he grew into his hands and nose.

               Bucky pushes Steve’s shirt over his head and tugs him into the bedroom. He’s aching for Steve and based on the pressure against his hip, Steve feels the same. Bucky has to reach up, just a little to meet his lips. It’s the same push and pull that’s always been between them, just without words. He shivers when Steve’s hands sneak under his shirt and across his chest, hitching his long sleeve higher and higher.

               “God Steve. Please– “

               “Please what?” From anyone else’s mouth the words would sound cocky, sultry. Steve is just asking a question. No pressure attached. It’s sweet.

               “I–I… I want you inside me.” It’s not something he’d ever thought he’d want but there they are.

               Steve smiles lazily against Bucky’s mouth. “God, yes. But I think we need to be a little less dressed.” Then he’s tugging Bucky’s shirt over his head. There isn’t enough time to bite back the hiss of pain when it drags over the splotchy purple handprint.

               Steve freezes. “Buck?”

               _Oops._ “It’s nothing, just a little bruised.” He tries to dismiss. He doesn’t want Steve being a mother hen while Bucky’s trying to take him to bed. Except they’ve known each other their whole lives. There’s no way he can lie effectively.

               “Buck, I know how fast you heal, and it’s a handprint.”

               Bucky shrugs. “I missed you.” He says, very pointedly not looking at Steve or the bruise that will be yellow and green by tomorrow.           

               Steve surprises him with a press of lips to his temple. “I was gone for ten seconds you sap.” He says, then adds. “We’re not done talking about this, but it can wait.”

               They make quick work of their pants, belts clattering loudly on the wood floor, until Steve’s legs get tangled and he falls onto the bed, dragging Bucky with him. Neither of them can hold back their snickers.

               Once they’re both clad only in their boxers and in the bed, there’s a pause. Despite how obviously they both want this, neither of them is sure how to continue.

               “I– Are you sure, Buck?”

               Bucky rolls his eyes. “As long as you are. Jesus, Stevie, doll face. Get on with it.”

               Steve obliges, sinking down into the space between Bucky’s legs, leaving wet kisses all the way down his sternum and belly. It’s a strangely sweet gesture. And _Jesus,_ is that a sight to behold. Steve with his eyes on Bucky’s and smirking like the cat who got the canary. He slips his fingers under the waistband of Bucky’s boxers and if he weren’t hard already, he certainly would be now.

               Steve still has a smug look on his face when he bites the juncture of Bucky’s hip, _way too close to his dick._  He grins when the sensation makes Bucky jump.

               “Steve, doll, I love you, but if you keep teasing, I will not be held accountable for kicking you in the face.” He whines, despite not actually knowing what he wants Steve to get on with.

               Steve laughs. “If you say so.” Then with no further preamble his mouth is on Bucky’s cock, and _fuck_ the feeling is indescribable. He barely holds back a yelp and Steve has to pin Bucky’s hips to the bed, so he doesn’t choke. He’s got one hand around what he can’t cover with his mouth and he feels like he’s burning alive from the inside. On reflex his flesh hand curls in Steve’s hair, the other gripping the sheets hard enough to tear. He had stopped being self-conscious of the metal limb some time ago but it’s a bitch to get hair out from between the plates.

               “Fuck– Steve, your mouth–“ The way he’s hollowing his cheeks and squeezing with his hand is quickly forming a knot low in Bucky’s belly.

               Steve seems to have nothing against the hand tugging at his hair, and the groan he lets out tightens the knot further. He’s getting close to the edge. “Nnngh, shit– Shit, Steve I–“ His grip tightens and Steve groans again. Bucky can’t even warn him before he starts unraveling, arching off the mattress. He must black out for a moment because when he opens his eyes again, he’s face to face with Steve.

               “Have you done that before?” He pants.

               “No, but the future is a very educational place.” Steve hums, corners of his mouth twitching upwards. Of course, the bastard is proud of himself.

               Bucky shoves him, just because he can, and Steve almost rolls off the bed. They’re both snickering like schoolboys and Steve’s grin has lost the cheeky edge. Bucky had missed seeing genuine joy on his face. Missed seeing the smile he loves so much, a little crooked on the left and sunshine bright. He kisses that smile because that’s something they can do now.

               He can feel himself getting hard again, perks of whatever discount serum Zola gave him. Whatever the reason, he really wants Steve.  Steve, who is still clad in his boxers; Bucky would be lying if he said he isn’t proud of the damp spot he can see on the front.

               “Why on earth are you still wearing those? We’re not done yet, doll face.”

               Steve huffs a put-upon sigh but acquiesces, fumbling to get them off. It’s the most inelegant thing Bucky’s ever seen.  Whoever said that Captain America was graceful had clearly never met the clumsy idiot. But once they’re off…

               They’ve seen each other naked plenty. Being poor offered little privacy and a war even less so. Still, the context makes a difference.  Before they would have pretended not to look, but now he’s taking full advantage of the new permission. And _God damn_ if he doesn’t like what he sees. He knew Steve was the perfect man, cause of Erskine’s serum, even if he sometimes guiltily missed boney elbows and skinny shoulders. He knew Steve was attractive but having free range to look is pretty great.

               There’s a nasty scar though, right over his collar bone. Stretching from the top of his left shoulder to the right side of his chest. After the serum Steve wasn’t supposed to scar, which means magic was probably involved and it probably hurt a lot. Bucky hates the thought of Steve being injured, always has and always will. Steve catches him staring, brow furrowed.

               “I’m okay Buck. It stung for a couple weeks, had to postpone the rest of my trip, but I’m fine.” He assures.

               Bucky sighs and presses a kiss to the scar, then to his mouth for good measure. ”This is what happens when you go and do shit without me.”

               He laughs. “I promise to take you with me back in time next time I go.”

               “Damn right you will.” Just like that the mood is restored.

               “Just so you know, I–I’ve never don’t this before either.” Steve stumbles. He’s holding himself over Bucky by his elbows.

               Bucky kisses him again, just a peck because he seems nervous. They both are. “Neither have I. I’m sure we can figure it out. After all you are the Star-Spangled Man with a plan.”

               Steve groans at the moniker. Thankfully, he manages to get the lube and condom from the bedside table without any further fumbling.

               “You still sure?” he asks again, because he’s a gentleman if nothing else.

               “Absolutely.”

               “Good. Let me know if you want me to stop.” He says and wastes no time coating his fingers in lube. Bucky hitches his legs higher and Steve kisses him as his hand dips lower, lower, lower. Steve’s finger is warm and slick where it presses against the ring of muscle. Bucky has to will himself to relax but he can’t help but flinch when Steve presses past the rim.

               “Does that hurt?” he asks, worried.

               Bucky shakes his head. “Jus’ strange ‘s all. Good strange. Keep goin’. Please.”

               Steve does, pushing father, rocking back and forth until Bucky’s loose enough for a second finger. Then he crooks his fingers and Bucky sees stars.  

               “Nnngh! Fuck, Steve!” He rakes his fingers down Steve’s back, grapping for something to hold on to. The stretch feels incredible and Steve is kissing him, stealing all the sounds from his mouth. By the time he works a third finger in Bucky is shaking and achingly hard again, keening every time those fingers brush against his prostate.             

               “Stevie, c’mon. Please.”               

               Steve looks like an angel above Bucky, flushed and shiny with sweat. His hair looks like a fucking halo the way the light is shining through it. Bucky’s whole body shudders when Steve pulls out his fingers. His skin feels raw from head to toe.

               Steve pulls away to roll on the condom and apply more lube, and Bucky has to keep himself from chasing after the warmth and closeness. His heart is in his throat even now, terrified of Steve vanishing. But then he’s back, solid and warm and real.

               He’s gentle and perfect, kissing softly and pressing in an inch at a time. Bucky’s ankles are crossed over the small of his back and _Jesus wept_ he’s never felt so full, so secure wrapped up like this. Maybe before, decades ago, but he hadn’t realized how much he missed it.

               When he’s fully seated, Steve lets out a shuddering breath, head falling against Bucky’s shoulder. “Jesus, Buck. Do you even know how incredible you are?” Steve gasps, breath fanning hot over his collarbones.

               Bucky gives a small chuckle, fingers skating over the bumps of Steve’s ribs. They don’t stick out like they used to but they’re still tangible in places. “What on earth did I do to deserve a punk like you?”

               “You want an alphabetical or chronological list?”

               He laughs, shoulders shaking. “You’re such an idiot, I can’t believe I’m having sex with you.”

               Smugly, Steve bucks his hips and Bucky’s laugh breaks into a moan. “Ah! Fuck– Steve!”

               That rakish grin is back on his mouth as he picks up a rhythm. Not so fast or hard that it’s overwhelming but it feels _good._ It’s hard to keep kissing, rocking the way they are, but they give it their best. Steve tastes like Bucky and that’s… _different._

Steve hitches Bucky’s hips up farther, the angle changes and _oh hell._

“Ah! Right there– Don’t stop, Stevie!” He gasps, using his feet to match Steve’s every thrust. A knot is building low in his gut again and he can’t choke down the noises. The little gasps and moans that get punched out with every thrust.

               Steve is saying something, small whispers right in Bucky’s ear, but he’s too overwhelmed to make any sense of the syllables. Every other thrust is hitting his prostate and his cock is trapped between their stomachs, all sensations that are bringing Bucky to the edge quickly, quickly, quickly.           

               “Shit! Steve, I’m close– Nngh, please!”

               “I know Buck, ah! Me too–“ Steve says, picking up the pace. Bucky _keens._ Just a few more thrusts and his orgasm washes over him, making his skin feel white hot and his toes curl. Steve follows him over the edge just a few moments later, eyes screwed shut in pleasures and looking like sin incarnate. After a perfunctory wipe down with an abandoned t-shirt Steve collapses on the bed next to him. They’re both out of breath but it doesn’t matter.

               Bucky has rarely, if ever, felt this relaxed. Like he could melt into the mattress and not worry about anything. Steve kisses him again. He’s never going to get used to this.

               “Good?” Steve asks with a lazy smile.

               Bucky laughs.  “Why the hell did we wait seventy years for this?”              

               He snorts. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. If it weren’t for Peggy, I would have had my head in my ass for another century.” He pulls Bucky’s arm so they’re closer, practically spooning. Steve is the only one he doesn’t mind being manhandled by.

               It’s way too warm and they’re way to sweaty to be cuddling like they are. This doesn’t faze Steve who is wrapping himself around Bucky like an over-muscled octopus.

               “You okay there, Stevie?”

               Steve has a dopey grin on his face. If his eyes weren’t closed, he’d probably look halfway drunk in afterglow. He nods into Bucky’s shoulder. He’ll probably have imprints on his face from the arm later.

               “I’m good.” He sounds halfway to falling asleep. The sun is setting outside, despite the way the streets are still alive below. Cities never sleep and all that.

               “Get some sleep, pal. I’m right behind you.”       

               Not even a minute after Steve’s breathing evens out Bucky finds himself drifting off after.

~*~

               “Are you sure about this, Steve?” Bucky asks. They’re sitting on a bench in the middle of Central Park, waiting for Wilson. There’s another Central Park overlaid in Bucky’s memories, full of tents and small campfires and people just trying to get by. He prefers the version of right now.

               “Yeah, of course.” He says, looking sure enough that Bucky doesn’t question him.

               “On your left, Rogers.” Sam says, walking up to the bench.

               Steve chuckles. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

               “Not a chance.” He looks at Steve’s arm where it’s draped over Bucky’s shoulders. “Glad to see that you two finally got your shit together.”

               Now it’s Bucky’s turn to laugh. “Only been in love with him what? Eighty years?”

               “Yeah, yeah. I love you too, jerk.”

               “So, why’d you call me out here anyway. Can’t possibly be just to show off like a couple of teenage sweethearts, can it?”

               “Fair enough. Actually, there’s something I’d like you to have.” The leather case is leaning against Steve’s leg. As he talks, he unzips it. Inside is the most well-known symbol in America, newly repaired.

               Giving up the mantel of Captain America was one of the easiest decisions that Bucky’s ever seen Steve make. He only has vague memories of Steve dropping the shield in Siberia, but he’s already given it up once, giving it up now is just making it official. Steve Roger’s is no longer Captain America. As simple as the decision is for Steve, Sam is hesitating.

               “Steve, what?”

               “Just try it on for size.” The sun glints off the metal as Steve pulls it from the case and places it in Sam’s hands. Smoothly Sam threads his arm through the straps and tightens them. He holds it out, examining with a critical eye, though he doesn’t seem to know what he’s looking for.

               “How does it feel?” He asks once Sam’s got it on.

               “Like it belongs to someone else.” Sam says, honest as always.

               “It doesn’t. Not anymore.”

               “Why? Why me? Why are you giving this up?”

               “I’m not the Captain America the world needs anymore, frankly I don’t want to be anymore. If there’s a fight and you need me, I’ll be there, but until then,” Steve gestures to the shield. “I’m retired.”

               “Where will you go now?”

               Steve shrugs. “Not sure yet. Brooklyn, Wakanda maybe. Apparently, there’s a goat named after me there.”

               Bucky laughs. “Yeah, the ugliest one, pal. He reminded me of you.”

               “Good for you two.” Sam says. “Though, it would be even better to see you two at the group session next week.”

               “Yeah, don’t push your luck, Wilson.” Bucky grumbles, smiling.

               “Yeah, okay, but I’ll see you around, yeah?”

               “Of course, Sam.”

               Sam tucks the shield back into the case. No one notices or cares. Gotta love self-centered New Yorkers. “Best of luck to you two.” He slings the case over his back.

               “Same to you, Captain America.”


End file.
